A Soul To Fight For
by Fulminanz
Summary: Magical Britain is in an uproar. The daughter of Voldemort had its first burst of accidental magic and already draw blood. The mob is out for lynch justice, but Hermione Granger decides that no child should suffer for its parents mistakes and adopts the small and sweet Merope Riddle. 1 Chapter Sketch.


**I don't know if I will ever write more of this, but I thought I might as well just post it, just like I will a lot more started stories. Follow if you are interested, but don't get your hopes up. I already got two stories running and a third is simply too much work. If you'd like to adopt it, however, go ahead. Just inform me of it.**

Harry Potter, upstarting Auror in the ranks of the DMLE, specialized in dealing with murderers, rapists and especially Dark Lords stood at the front end of a long table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place Number twelve. He was more excited than he has been for a long time now due to the letter he had received early in the morning, asking for a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, or at least what remained of it. The letter came from Minerva McGonagall and spoke of some urgent matter that couldn't wait.

Harry knew pretty well what they'd talk about today.

Working at the Ministry and climbing the ranks within the DMLE was nothing short of a landslide matter for Harry. He was well aware that his status as the 'Destroyer of Voldemort', or whatever nickname they'd come up with, helped him greatly in doing so. Whenever the question arose who'd fit an open position, his name was one of the first to be named, always. Given this rather carefree working environment, politics had never been an issue for Harry. Not until this day.

Now he was asked from all sides how he reacted to the rumors and obviously fake horror-stories. He gave no comment, as he used to do when people asked him about rumors. Even if this particular one was immensely worrying.

Before him sat the remnants of the legendary Order of the Phoenix. There was of course his wife, Ginny Potter who had just begun to play for the Holyhead Harpies, the all female Quidditch team. Then there were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, his best friends and comrades. On the other side of the table sat the Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Then there were of course the Professors of Hogwarts that were in the Order, namely Minerva McGonagall, Pomora Sprout and the half-goblin Filius Flitwick. The Weasley family sat next to them. Molly Weasley with her husband, Arthur. George Weasley who always seemed like just a half of something. Bill and Fleur Weasley made the circle on the table complete. It wasn't everybody, but at least the inner circle. Some others like Daedalus Diggle were far too weakened by age to attend.

Heroes, every single one of them. Steeled in battle and toughened up, survivalists and warriors. They had nothing to fear, not now that they had defeated their great nemesis. But everyone knew that calling the Order meant in a single word – trouble.

"Thank you all for coming at this short notice but if the urgent matter Minerva is talking about is what I think it is, we cannot waste time." he said with the same slow and deep voice he had trained over the last years. Public speaking came easier to him nowadays. He turned to the old witch in her grey-blue robes that sat next to him. "Please, fill us in Minerva."

She stood up, cleared her throat and then tried to speak, but the words died in her throat. She sighed loudly and closed her eyes for a second, knowing that she was about to start a long discussion. Or, when she thought about it, an unfairly short one.

"In my position as headmistress of Hogwarts it is within my rights to look at the accidental magic protocols of Great Britain, Ireland and the Commonwealth." she started, taking a deep breath before she continued. "Three days ago, a child – a girl – living in an orphanage in Lanark, near Glasgow, showed up on this protocol."

"And this concerns us, because?" asked Ron rather annoyed. Harry shot him a scolding glare. The redhead was just pissed off about being summoned during his free time at home. If he'd have to meet during his shift, he'd be in a much better mood.

"As you know, Ron, the Ministry is in high alert because of this." Harry reminded his best friend.

"Yes, but why? You know they tell you much more than me." Ron stated. Harry had to admit that he was probably right.

"So is it true, the rumors?" came the concerned voice of Hermione from Ron's left. She had, of course, heard the whispers much clearer than her fiancee. In her time in the Ministry she had proven to be a remarkable politician, worthy of a Slytherin, and so it didn't surprise Harry that she probably knew more than she ought to. A simple nod from her best friend made her gasp in shock. It couldn't be!

At this the rest of the table demanded to know more and Minerva gladly provided them the information. "As you all know, Albus suspected Voldemort to plan on building up a magical empire, of sorts. And so there was always the suspicion that... well... he needed heirs."

"Don't tell me...!"

"I fear it is true, Ronald. Three days ago I have been made aware of the fact that Merope Bellatrix Riddle, daughter of Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange will attend Hogwarts three years from now."

-MBR-

Merope was a good kid, in her own opinion. She never did anything unreasonable or bullied weaker children. She could, of course, bully them until they stopped whining and just took hit after hit moaning in the state between crying and unconsciousness, but she always did it with bigger children, Bullies who had ganged up on some little one. She had nothing but hate for them.

As far back as she could remember she had been a target of bullies. As far back as she could remember, the adults never concerned themselves with the fights between the children. When Merope asked them for help, they told her that the bullies were the real victims or some idiocy she didn't understand. They had literally asked her to turn the other cheek. But Merope wasn't as daft as the Messiah the nuns of the orphanage made her learn about. Jesus Christ hung on that cross because he had been to weak to fight the bullies. In Meropes opinion.

So she had learned to fight them. She would never gain the raw muscle power of most of them. She knew that her fragile, petite build would one day – maybe – be considered beautiful, but it surely did nothing to help her against the present threat. She had learned to work with what she had. When she missed a yellow crayon to draw the sun, she used a red one and pretended it was late afternoon. When her teddy lost an arm, she stitched his right shoulder to a stumble and pretended that he had an horrible car accident. She never forgot who the true culprit was, of course, but whenever Mike Breen wasn't around, she pretended. And now, seeing that she didn't have the raw power to go against them, she used some rope and some stones to make them trip when they chased her. She used elastic willow sticks as a whip. The washed out stones in the river, round and pretty, made great projectiles when thrown.

Just like the attacks against her, the adults wouldn't do much to counter the attacks against the bullies if Merope contained the damage to a minimum. The rule of thumb, quite literally, was that a wound bigger than her thumbs fingernail would need medical attention and would subsequently get her into trouble. She got into trouble quite a lot of times.

But then again, she only defended herself and the weaker children. She knew she did nothing wrong, let alone evil. Yes, evil. That was the word the nuns often used when they described her. Especially Sister Hyland looked down on her with great disdain in her face. Merope was sure that she had heard the woman laugh before. She was also sure that the nun was able to smile. However, Merope was never on the receiving end of either. Whenever Sister Hyland looked at her it was as if the nun saw the brood of the devil himself. She would tell the other nuns that Merope was naturally evil. They made her pray often.

I believe in God, the Father almighty,  
creator of heaven and earth.  
I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord.  
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit  
and born of the Virgin Mary.  
He suffered under Pontius Pilate,  
was crucified, died, and was buried.  
He descended to the dead.  
On the third day he rose again.  
He ascended into heaven,  
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.  
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.  
I believe in the Holy Spirit,  
the holy catholic Church,  
the communion of saints,  
the forgiveness of sins,  
the resurrection of the body,  
and the life everlasting. Amen.

Merope knew these words by heart. The nuns made her say it nearly every day and several times on sundays. They said that it would make her a better person, but Merope didn't quite understand why kneeling on cold marble in an even colder chapel, speaking to the weakling that let himself be nailed to a cross would make her a better human. If anything it hurt her knees and had given her several colds by now. Especially when she had to pray during the winter the icy temperatures made her sick.

Now she sat in the chapel once again, kneeling before the cross and the altar. Next to her was the young nun, Sister Öztürk. Merope didn't know her very well. All she knew about the young woman was that she was from Turkey and had believed in a different god before. Why she'd change her believes, Merope couldn't quite understand, but it didn't mark her as a strong character, that was for sure. In Meropes opinion.

The young woman looked pitiful at her, holding out a hand whenever Merope looked up to her. All the adults shared this look and it greatly annoyed Merope. She understood that she had seen the death of one of her peers. But she couldn't remember and therefore, she wasn't nearly as affected by it as the nuns thought she was.

It all started with the most insufferable of all the bullies in the orphanage being especially annoying one evening. It was rainy outside and the clouds darkened the sky enough to call in an early night. The children sat before the television, watching a rather boring movie Merope had seen several times before. It was the tale of King Arthur, animated with quirky characters and ridiculous dialogue that only made the younger kids laugh. Merope was just as bored of it as most of the other children as old, or older than her. But she enjoyed reading, other than her peers, and so was quite content just sitting there and reading 'Moby Dick'. The occasional laughter disturbed her a little, but since she had lived in the orphanage all her life, being disturbed wasn't exactly unknown to her.

What was unknown to her was the whispers she heard coming from Killian Porter and his band of idiots. He was, as Merope called him, the King of the Apes. He was ugly, bulky and strong for his age. Furthermore he was the ugliest, bulkiest and strongest of all the boys in his group. Children who had absolutely zero chance of ever being adopted, not that this chance was very high in the first place. They knew that, and to vent their frustration and depression, they enjoyed making other kids as undesirable as they were themselves by beating them up.

This night they mustered the courage to go after Merope again. She had no friends to come to her aid, but she was surely the most vicious when attacked. But she was also desired by many adults who came to adopt children. She was sweet, cute and if she wanted she could make the halls shine up with the sound of her most enjoyable laugh. The only reason she hasn't been adopted yet was that there weren't a lot adoptions anyway and the nuns mostly discouraged the adults to adopt her. But the simple bottomline, the part Killian Porter understood, was that she was everything he was not.

So he walked up to her and grabbed the book to throw it a few meters away. Having to stand up and get the book wasn't enough to enrage the girl. There would be vengeance, Killian knew, so he had absolutely no reason not to go for something that would bring upon him, her rage. Next to the place where she sat, was her teddy. The disgusting, more stitch than anything, stuffed bear was her precious treasure. Killian grabbed it, waved it around in front of her and then ran away, Merope close behind him.

Meropes head was numb in blind, hot rage. Nobody took her teddy, nobody! In her tunnel vision she didn't even recognize the other boys standing up as well and going after her and Killian. She had grabbed a pen to stick it in the bulky boys upper arm, but there were too many upper arms for one pen now.

She chased Killian until he came to a halt in an empty hallway, far away from the adults that were busy drinking coffee and chatting. He grinned evily at her and she glared back with a look that promised long and painful punishment. The teddy hung lazily from the boys hand.

"Give him back!" Merope shouted at him. "Give him back or I'll beat you up!"

"Pff... Try it!" he gave back with a sneer.

Merope was about to do just that. Stick the pen in his arm, kick him in the nuts and then run back to the room to her book. A simple plan it would be, if it wasn't for the boys behind her.

As soon as she started towards Killian, a kick in her kneepit sent her to kneel before him while a punch in her sides robbed her lungs of air. Her arms were pulled back and held in a cross behind her shoulderblades. Another boy stood on her legs and pinned her down like this. A third held her in a headlock.

"Now you stop talking big, eh?" Killian said mockingly. His voice was as ugly as his face and his grin was more of a grimace than anything. He punched her in the face with attitude and laughed out loud when she cried in pain. "You think you're so pretty and so good. You're just a stupid cow!"

He was an idiot through and through with the vocabulary of a child two years younger then him and the thinking capacities of a handicapped person. But Merope knew, dumb hits hard. Dumb hits without remorse, without thinking about consequences. The hits came flying and when she heard a crack and spit out a tooth, they stopped and laughed even louder, calling her the few insults they knew.

Merope could take it as she had took it before. If she was lucky, the tooth was a primary tooth anyway, she thought. Bruises and wounds she could handle.

But her eyes grew wide in shock when she saw Killian produce her teddy and a scissor from his pockets.

"NO! Please don't, no!" she begged him, tears rushing down from her face. This teddy was all she had from her mother. It had lain next to her in the linen rags she was entwined in when she was brought to the orphanage and it was with her all the time. "PLEASE! STOP IT!" Her shouts were wails of terror, loud enough to be heard in the entire house.

Killian just laughed and pierced the belly of the teddy with the scissor. When he pulled it out white-grey stuffing fell to the floor. Her teddy bleeded from a severe wound.

He cut off one of the teddys legs. "STOP IT!"

He cut of his other arm. "PLEASE, STOP IT!"

He cut open his belly. "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP, IT!"

He cut off the other leg. Merope's vision was blurred from the tears in her eyes. Her brain didn't work, there were no thoughts, only rage and desperation and one wish.

He cut off his head. "I'LL KILL YOU!" she screamed.

From the very bottom of her heart, the deepest end of her soul and with every fiber in her body she meant those words. 'I will kill you!' was all she thought as she saw the remnants of her treasure lying on the floor, Killian Porter standing over it, stomping on the white-grey stuffing.

A wail sounded through the orphanage. A scream of hot rage, anger and deepest hate.

Sister Hyland had always known. She had told her sisters and her colleagues. This child was of the devil. But even she hadn't imagined to ever see what she saw after the three boys got her from the pause room. Their eyes had been wide in horror and all they'd been able to speak were unintelligble words of terror. And one name. Merope.

Killian Porter, the ugly child that Sister Hyland had had no hope for, was cut into pieces and nailed to the wall. His blood streamed down the bland, ragged white wallpapers and beneath him sat Merope, trying to piece together her stuffed bear while crying like a banshee.

There were popping noises in the orphanage and when Sister Hyland turned around she saw people in wide clothes that looked a bit like the robes the monks of Glasgow wore. One of them raised a stick at her.

The poor Killian Porter had fallen from the third floor and died from the impact. Merope had seen it while walking to the restrooms. Sister Hyland couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl.

-MBR-

"So, what you're saying is that we're dealing with the daughter of Voldemort who, at the age of eight years killed her first victim? Excuse my ignorance, but what even is the question? Of course that girl isn't coming to Hogwarts... I mean, jeez, do you so eagerly want her to actually control magic?" Ronald Weasley was up on his feet, pacing the room. Not only was he not informed of this right away, that was the first thing that nagged him, no – the DMLE had found the daughter of Voldemort after she had killed with accidental magic and when he connected the dots he realized that some in the room actually believed this girl would go to Hogwarts. Were they daft or something?

"What do you mean by 'her first victim', Ronald?" Hermione asked and in her voice were the clear signs that there was a wrong answer to this.

"What I mean is that – hello! - shes the daughter of Voldemort. The Daughter. Of. Voldemort!" Ron nearly shouted.

This, however, had been the wrong answer for Hermione. She stood up and pointed an accusing finger at her fiancee. "She's eight! She had a case of accidental magic gone horribly wrong! She is not a Dark Lady!"

"Well, but she's certainly trying!" he spat back, his arms crossed before his chest.

"Accidental magic, Ronald Weasley! She _didn't_ _want_ to kill!" Hermione countered just as loudly.

"Stop it, you two!" Harry interrupted. "We are not here to discuss this girls acceptance into Hogwarts. She will go to Hogwarts as is her right. What we..."

"Oh, fuck her rights!" the redhead spat back at Harry. "How could we allow this, anyway? She would go to class with Teddy, for crying out loud!"

Harry chose to ignore his rambling friend. Ron wasn't thinking clearly, and Harry couldn't really hold it against him. Truth be told, he took it far better than some of his colleagues back in the DMLE. Harry knew that there had been an incident at the orphanage when the Aurors saw who they dealt with. Two of them were taken into custody for attempted murder. Harry shook his head when he had heard that they had used Cutting Curses at her that were just barely deflected by a quickly reacting trainee. And they were just those who weren't able to control themselves. The Obliviator had made sure to completely erase her memory of the night. There was no substitute memory, just blank space. It was the worst he could do without fearing repercussions.

Harry surely had to wonder if bringing her into the magical world would be a good idea. But not because he feared that she could become a Dark Lady and continue her fathers work. No, he feared for her. The magical world would want her head the moment they knew about her existence, and Harry was sure that he already knew the Daily Prophet headline of one of the following days.

Harry slowly began to speak again, making sure that Ron would not again interrupt him. "What we are here to discuss is how we get her out of the limelight. You all know that people will lynch her the moment they know where she is and..."

"...and I say good riddance!" Ron shouted.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" The whole room flinched back at the furious Hermione. She had been scary enough in her school years when she was angry. Living at the Weasleys, with Molly Weasley as an available rolemodel didn't exactly lessen that. "How can you even think of letting an EIGHT YEAR OLD being killed by some raging lynchmob. Are you completely out of your mind?!"

"I'm just saying..."

"NO! You're not 'just saying'!" By now she now poked him with her index finger every time she said a word. Her head was red with anger and her eyes were promising harsh consequences for anyone who dares defy her in her fury. "I did NOT sign up to marry a man who would stand aside while an eight year old girl gets killed, no matter who her parents are! Do you understand me? The moment the Daily Prophet 'accidentally' writes about this she is dead and we will NOT stand aside and let that happen. Period!"

-MBR-

Merope stood in front of the mirror and slowly moved her toothbrush from side to side while Sister Öztürk made her a sweet looking ponytail out of her long black hair that normally hung to her lower back. There was an adult coming, looking to adopt a child and Sister Öztürk had made it her personal mission to get Merope into a family since the incident with Killian. But Merope was sure that she would have no chance of ever being adopted, the big black rings under her granite-grey eyes didn't help either. She hadn't really slept since the night of Porters death. Dreams of him being nailed to the wall, sliced up like an animal after slaughter denied her any chance of an healthy sleep. Her body had always been fragile and her non-existent appetite of the last days just made her appearance thinner and more like that of a porcelain statue. It also emphasized her already sharp features and her strong jaw.

When she spit out and washed her mouth clean of the remaining toothpaste, she grabbed her teddy and left the bathroom for the entry hall where she would wait with the other kids for the adults. One adult – a woman - she reminded herself. She had never heard of an incident of a single parent being allowed to adopt. Maybe they changed that law? Merope didn't know and frankly, didn't care. One mother without a father was still better than no mother or father.

She was one of the last to arrive in the entry hall and chose a dark corner to just wait out the coming hours show of great hope and heartbreaking disappointment. Especially the younger kids who already grasped the concept held high hopes and trained their sweetest smile. They'd be crying tonight. Merope didn't really mind getting no sleep, but she preferred it to be because of nightmares instead of annoying little brats crying their eyes out.

Merope just held her teddy tight against her chest. She had lost him during the night of Killians death, but Sister Öztürk had found it, and even repaired its missing arm with a new, white one that stood in a stark contrast to the dark-brown rest of the teddy and its many stitches. Sister Öztürk took over a special place in Meropes heart when she gave her the teddy.

The choir of faked happy greetings made Merope look up to the entry. The lady looked nice enough, she thought. She even looked kind with her brown eyes and the bushy, brown hair that was tamed by several hairbands. Merope was sure that whomever this woman would take, she'd be a good mother to him or her. Better than the nuns, anyway.

The woman looked through the rows of kids and sent some a winning smile while she waved at them. Especially the youngest were smitten by her and didn't even have to fake their smiles. She wasn't stunningly beautiful, but she had some aura of greater beauty, something that made you feel cared for just by looking into her smiling eyes. Merope had to admit that she was far more interesting than most adults who came to the orphanage.

Merope was looking up and down the woman who was clad in a fine looking business dress and needed a while to realize that the woman was looking back. Grey eyes met brown ones when both stared at the other, trying to force a reaction.

Then the woman nodded and gave Merope a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, but still she leaned over to Sister Hyland and said something to her that made the old nun look surprised, even shocked. The nun walked over to Merope who couldn't quite connect the dots. Not until Sister Hyland stretched out a hand to her. " wants to talk to you. Best behavior!" she demanded.

"She wants to... talk to me?" Merope asked confused while walking to an open, separated room next to the hall. The children she passed glared at her and it dawned Merope that she was about to talk to the kind looking woman about being adopted.

"Here she is, . Would you like some tea, maybe coffee while you chat?" Sister Hyland said with a sweet voice Merope wouldn't believe the nun possessed if she hadn't just heard it.

"No, thank you." voice was just as kind as her appearance and Merope couldn't help but cheer in her mind and at least tried to get a smile onto her fatigued face. Damn her sleep-deprivation! She needed to look sweet and healthy now, not sick and depressed.

"Hello Merope. Thats your name, right?"

"He...Hello." was all Merope could say. The rest got stuck in her throat.

"Sit, please." gestured to a comfortable armchair next to a small table. When Merope took place she tried hard to face the woman and smile. Whatever it was her face did, it made the bushy haired woman chuckle. Although that chuckle sounded nervous.

"So... I'm Hermione Granger. Can you tell me a bit about you? I'm curious. What are your hobbies?"

Merope swallowed heavily. What were her hobbies? Nobody had ever asked that before and she didn't quite know what to say. "I like books." she answered nervously. "Books and my teddy." When Hermione nodded Merope took it as a sign to continue. "I also like watching TV, sometimes. But books are better I think. What do you like?"

"I like books as well." Hermione Granger answered cheerfully. "What story do you like best?"

"I really liked..." she began, but Merope stopped immediately when she realized that the book she was about to name was normally forbidden by the nuns. "You promise you don't tell? The nuns don't like them very much." she whispered to Hermione.

"I promise." she whispered back with a smile.

"I really liked Lord of the Rings. Its such a great story. I like Gandalf the most. Do you know Lord of the Rings?"

"Yes, I loved that book. Have you red The Hobbit as well?"

"There's another book?" Merope asked excitedly to which Hermione let out a chuckle. Merope ignored by now that Hermiones laughs seemed to sound a bit nervous and thought that it was probably just a little quirk.

"Yes. Its the story of Bilbo Baggins. I think you know him?"

"Yes. He's Frodos grandfather! There's a book about him?" Merope was at the edge of her seat and was just amazed by the fact that her favorite story had a prequel. But then she remembered that she would never be able to read it and slumped back in the chair.

"Whats wrong?" asked Hermione, a little worried at the sudden change of Meropes mood.

"I'm not allowed to read those books." she said slowly. "The nuns think they're not good for us."

"Now that is just nonsense. The Hobbit is a great story about courage and camaraderie."

"The nuns think they're a bad influence. I also think Lord of the Rings is great and if The Hobbit is anything like it, its wonderful too." Merope agreed.

"A good thing then, that I have it in my library." said Hermione.

Merope frowned and everyone watching could see that the gears grinded behind her forehead. Hermione smiled at the young girl as she put together what was just said. A fews second later it clicked and instead of the expected reaction, Merope just looked confused as she asked. "You're adopting me?"

"Yes. If you want, that is." Hermione answered, her smile somewhat stifled by the lack of excitement on Merope's side.

"I... I... but... you..." But Merope couldn't form a even half a sentence before she felt her eyes becoming wet. Before too long, big teardrops ran down her cheek and got caught by a soft, linen handkerchief, held to her face by Hermione who knelled before her.

"Why?" Merope finally asked. She couldn't understand. She looked horrible, gaunt, sick, ugly. Why would anyone like her, let alone adopt her?

"I watched you for a time now, you know." Hermione lied." You're such a sweet girl and stout-hearted I reckon. Also, I see a bit of myself in you." Hermione said and at her words, Merope had to stifle her sobs in order to not just cry uncontrollably. "So, would you like to come with me? I know you didn't have much time to get to know me, but I promise I won't hold you somewhere you don't want to be."

Merope answered by hugging Hermione as tight as she could. She would never let go, she thought at first. She would hold onto that woman for the rest of her life and never let go. She could lay her head into the bushy brown hair that smelled a bit like cinnamon and when her arms moved around Meropes back, she felt a strange sense of ease flowing through her body. It was like she had been tense for all her life and just now felt some kind of relief. Yes, she could get used to that feeling, she thought. She could get used to the smell of Hermiones hair and she could definitely get used to her cooing in her ears. It was a soft tone that resonated through Meropes body and let all fear slowly fade away. It took her a while, but eventually Merope came to the conclusion that this was probably how happiness felt like. True happiness, not the small spikes of emotion when she ate chocolate or found a good new book. No, this was the real deal, deep and true, glowing in her heart like a wildfire.

Just when Hermione stopped the hushes and said that they should gather Meropes things, the little girl let go of Hermione. She grabbed Hermiones hands – what a feeling – and then walked with her to her room in the second floor. There wasn't much to gather, anyway. Some clothes, some little presents she had got from nuns to her birthday and the ragged Lord of the Rings trilogy she had salvaged from the trash two years back. Hermione packed it all in a rucksack she had with her and carefully placed the teddy on top of it before closing the lashes. Merope didn't need the teddy anymore. She had a kind woman's hand to hold onto now. Oh, how good it felt to feel her smaller hands be held by the sturdy but soft hands of Hermione. It felt so warm and exciting, so safe and protected.

They walked down to the entry hall where the nuns and workers of the orphanage waited for them to say their goodbyes. Sister Hyland appeared to be in some kind of shock while Sister Öztürk cried happy tears.

"Oh, Merope. I'm so happy for you. Be good, won't you?" the young nun said to her and hugged her quickly before standing up again. One of the caretakers handed her a handkerchief which she used to blow her nose rather un-lady like.

"Thank you." Merope said and smiled brightly at the nun.

The adults of the orphanage said their goodbyes, some crying some looking glad that the little, black-haired dervish was about to leave them for good. There were even some children who said goodbye, but they looked more disappointed than anything when they saw Merope take a seat in the black middle-class BMW that was parked in front of the orphanages entrance. Hermione went back to sign some last documents which gave Merope time to calm down a little. She would have someone that cared for her, now. Would Hermione let her call her mother or would that be too much to ask? She'd wait with that, Merope thought. Would she have her own room? What would it be like? What would there be to eat? When would she get The Hobbit to read? So many questions.

A few minutes later, Hermione entered the car looking a bit distressed, but quickly smiling again when she looked at Merope. "We have a long way to drive. I live in London, far in the south. That's an 8 hours drive. I hope you're up for it." she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Thats not a problem." Merope said eagerly. She would drive for days, weeks even, if it meant that she would get to live with this woman.

With a nod, Hermione started the engine of the car and began to drive down to England.

-MBR-

The hot chamile tea did nothing to calm Hermione down. She shook her head. As if tea could do to her nerves what a Calming Draught couldn't. She sat alone at the kitchen table of her parents house. Both of her parents were asleep, as was Merope. The girl had been quite a shock for the two older Grangers and the news that her daughter had adopted her called for some massive amounts of nerve-calming liquids. Scotch for her dad, Brandy for her mother. However, after talking to Merope, getting to know her, and Hermiones father even playing with her, they were smitten by the young girl.

And that was what concerned Hermione.

It robbed her of her sleep because she was just as taken by Merope as her parents. She was clever and had a heartwarming temper. There was fascination in her eyes when she talked about subjects like novels or movie-plots. Merope loved stories in every possible form of media. She loved to tell them but she enjoyed to hear them even more. Hermione saw a lot of herself in her. That had been a lie at first but as it turned out, over the 8 hours of driving, it was the truth nonetheless.

And that was what terrified Hermione.

Because as much as she saw herself in the way the girl talked, she also was the spitting image of the woman that had tortured Hermione at Malfoy Manor. Merope Bellatrix Riddle was in all but her eyes, her mother. Hermione could only wonder if Voldemort ever had grey eyes. Merope certainly didn't share the hateful red orbs of a monster her late father had. Hers were stern, analyzing and betrayed the intelligence of the girl, but there was no hate in them. If anything, there was a pleading look in her face at all times. A look that begged Hermione to never leave her behind.

And that was the problem.

The fallout of her decision, at least the very first consequence, lay before her on the kitchen table. It was a letter by Ron, telling her that he needed space and time to think. In other words, he was considering breaking up with her because she wouldn't stand aside when an innocent – well, at least a defenseless child was brought to the slaughter by some reporter.

They'd all been cowards, she thought. She understood why Harry didn't want to adopt the child. He was a kind soul, but even he would find his limits when dealing with the child of his arch-enemy. Hermione could only imagine what he'd see in her, given that she looked just like the murderess of his godfather. She couldn't even imagine him being able to smile before the child. Hermione had her problems too, she recalled. She had tried very hard to remain calm, collected and friendly in front of Merope. Sometimes her nervous laughs had betrayed her but Merope had made it easy for Hermione to remain friendly and in the end even forgot her nervousness around her.

She had imagined that Merope would be more than happy to live at Hogwarts under the care of the Professors and especially the headmistress. She couldn't help herself than to think that 'Hogwarts doesn't house students over the summer' was merely an excuse. They would school her, educate her and try their best not to see her father or mother in her, but they would not care for her, couldn't bring themselves to it.

They were still better than the Weasleys. Hermione had never seen this family as – murderous? She wasn't sure. They had more or less been okay with the fact that an angry mob would tear the girl apart as soon as the public got wind of her. Sure, she didn't expect sympathy for her, but downright wanting the girl dead?

When Molly Weasley decided that she and her entire family would leave the girl to her own devices, Hermione exploded on them. Being the two stubborn souls that they are, Molly had gotten into a huge fight with Hermione that, in the end, led to her announcing that she would adopt Merope. Back then she hadn't thought about her career or her life in general when she declared that she would safe that girl.

Now, she began to grasp what housing the daughter of Lord Voldemort meant for her.

She was teared from her musing by a white spirit stag, strutting through the living room until it stopped in front of Hermione. It was Harry's Patronus and as majestic as ever, even though its aura spoke of the worry in its masters heart. "Are you awake? I'd like to speak to you."

"I'm awake." she answered the voice of Harry. "I'm at my parents house."

Seconds after the Patronus vanished into white mist and then nothing, the flames in the chimney lit up in the usual green they took on when combined with floo powder. Out came the imposing form of Harry Potter, clad in fine, black, acromantula silk robes.

"How're you doing?" he immediately asked while cleaning his robes of the ashes that came with traveling by floo.

"You mean how do I do despite the fact that I adopted little , Ron's breaking up with me and the entire magical world will be furious at me by tomorrow morning? I feel dandy, really."

Harry just chuckled at the sarcasm and sat down opposite to Hermione. His eyes were a bit red and his skin looked pale, he obviously hadn't slept for quite some time now. However, the smile on his face was genuine and also a bit mischievous. "I think that I was at least able to fix the last problem." he said proudly.

"How so?"

"I used up some favors to... accelerate the process of making Merope your daughter. About thirty minutes earlier, Merope became a Granger." Harry shoved some documents over to Hermione who eyed them with careful curiosity. They were legal documents, all claiming that Merope Bellatrix Riddle was now Merope Granger.

"I've seen to it that they 'forget' her middle name and spelled her former surname wrong. However... Hermione, you cannot forget that eventually the secret will come out. There are too many who know by now."

"I know." Hermione said tired. "But this is wonderful, thank you Harry. At least I got some time to breathe now. How did you do it, by the way?"

"Boy-Who-Lived... twice. Forgot?"

"Prat!" she chuckled and swatted his arm playfully. "I never thought you'd be the type to use your name for these things."

"Well... I guess I do have a bit of Slytherin in me after all." he said smiling to which Hermione just shook her head in fake annoyance. "So, to more serious matters then. How are we going to fix this between you and Ron?" he asked a bit more serious.

"I..." she sighed loudly. "I don't really know if... I mean... have you seen him back at Grimmaulds?"

"Oh, come on. He was just overreacting. As were you by the way."

"He wanted an eight year old dead, Harry." she returned, the anger in her voice returning. "I'm... I mean, I don't even know what to do with this. Let alone now that I'm, legally speaking, the mother of the child he wanted dead."

"But... uhm..."

"Nothing 'but'! She really is a sweet girl, Harry. She likes reading and she likes watching animals. She is intelligent and curious and most importantly, not evil." Hermione rambled. But she stopped herself from falling into a rant, seeing the understanding, and sad face of Harry.

"It sounds like she at least got you on her side." he said quietly.

"She definitely has. I see... well... thats difficult, actually."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly to buy some time to think of an answer. "When I close my eyes she reminds me of the daughter I imagined I'd have with Ron. But when I open my eyes to look at her, a young and much kinder looking Bellatrix Lestrange looks back at me. Its hard, actually. She doesn't deserve it, but she reminds me of the woman that tortured me. She reminds me of that insane wench every time I look at her."

Harry nodded. "And you wonder if you will ever be able to see past this."

"Exactly." Hermione answered. "And also... will you be able to?"

Harry wanted to reply but the sound of a door slamming open and little feet running through the hallway kept him from sharing a piece of his mind. The steps drew closer and the sound of sobs mixed into that of the feet on the wooden floor.

From the hallway came a small, black-haired girl, Merope. "You're still here!" she screamed and launched herself at Hermione who nearly fell of the chair. "I dreamed you where gone and then I looked in your bedroom but you weren't there and I thought I was right before I heard your voice and then I saw you - thank god you're still here."

Hermione pressed the little girl against her and cooed softly in her ears. Merope visibly relaxed and buried her head in Hermione's bushy hair while Harry just stared at the scene that played out before him.

"She does look exactly like her." he said gobsmacked and startled when the girl quickly turned around to look at him. She obviously just realized that someone else was in the room.

"That's Harry, Merope. He's a friend of mine and helped me with all the paperwork that comes with you, see?" Hermione said and pointed at Merope's new name on the documents. The little girl took a while to focus on the paper but when she read her name in front of the new surname her eyes went wide and a bright smile formed on her face. She read her name over and over, fearing that she might see mistakes or find out its a fake.

"Am I now your daughter?" she said carefully.

"For all intents and purposes, yes." Hermione answered. She wiped some of Meropes left over tears from the girls cheek and then hugged her again. Maybe she could get used to this, Hermione thought. Caring for a little girl and making her hope again. Seeing the smile on her face, may it resemble the wenches as much as it does, felt amazingly fine. "You ought to say thank you to Harry. He made it all happen in a day."

"Thank you Harry, sir." Merope cheered towards the still stunned Harry.

That was quite an image to process. There before him sat Hermione Granger, his best friend and loyal comrade holding a girl that looked like the murderess of his godfather with the difference that she had grey-eyes that were kind instead of insane looking. He didn't know what he felt, it was a weird mixture of emotions he couldn't decipher fully and so he just sat there looking torn between anger and a smile. He felt this irrational anger against this girl. This spawn of two of the most evil people in the history of magic. He felt like smiling because the picture before him, Hermione holding the girl in her loving arms, was something he had always imagined happening after the war. True, he had thought it would be a red-haired dervish she'd hold, but it still reminded him of the images of peace he had clung to back when they hunted for the horcrux.

"Don't mention it." he finally said with a hoarse voice. "I gotta go, and I think you ought to bring her back to bed, Hermione."

"Giving me parental advice now, are we?"

"Good night, Hermione." he said smiling and apparated away with a pop.

' _Oh, shit._ ' was all Hermione thought as she looked in the downright horrified eyes of Merope who was just barely holding back screams of terror. There was a man who just vanished into nothingness right before her eyes.

"Oh, boy. Uhm... Merope. Would you terribly mind if we'd wait a bit before we get you back to bed? I think I need to tell you something."

-MBR-

Even summer was cold at the peaks of the alps and the rain was just a few degrees away from being snow. The black hooded figure waiting inside the ruins of the given up, alpine fortress didn't mind either, anyway. The air around it was warmer and the rain was deflected by an invisible force around the man. There had been news and he waited for his subordinate for confirmation.

The rain got disrupted, the air popped as a body displaced it by appearing from nothing. Another black hooded man stood in the rain and growled at the bad weather.

"You couldn't build your hideout somewhere... warmer?"

The waiting man chuckled quietly and shook his head in amusement. "No, Antonin. To be honest with you, I rather stay here where but the gifted can live comfortably."

"Well, I give you that, Lord Lestrange, it certainly has a nice view. If these cursed mountains are your thing."

"Its less the mountains themselves, but the history of them. Do you know that right where you stand thousands of muggles died defending but rocks? Its a testament to their animalistic nature." he grinned at his subordinate. "I sleep better knowing that even the soil on which I stand took muggle lives. But enough with the chit-chat. You have news for me, Dolohov?"

Antonin Dolohov nodded slowly and ordered his thoughts. What to tell his master first? He decided on a whim that the bad news could be easily erased by the good ones. "Your sons are still in Azkaban. Rodolphus was kissed by the Dementors. Rabastan is said to be insane. They are lost to the cause, my Lord."

"I assumed as much. My sons never had the big picture in mind. They only swore loyalty to Voldemort, that fool. Given his... embarrassing end, it is only normal for the servants to question themselves into madness." Lord Lestrange stared into the vast alps, searching his mind. His sons, dead. He would've enjoyed seeing them at his side and maybe even furthering the line of Lestrange. He had wasted them both, he thought. Now, in retrospective, Lord Voldemort was an idiotic bet. Lord Lestrange shoul've known the moment the Dark Lord obsessed about a boy and a prophecy. Pure foolishness, Lestrange was sure. "But there are good news, aren't there?"

"Yes, my Lord. It seems that Rodolphus' wife gave birth to a daughter before she fell in the Battle of Hogwarts..."

"Don't call this disgraceful skirmish a battle, Antonin!"

"My apologies, my Lord."Antonin said, bowing before his new Lord." Anyway, there is a daughter of Bellatrix and my sources tell me that she must be the Dark Lords."

"Impossible, the Dark Lord Voldemort wasn't able to produce children. Who are those sources?" Lord Lestrange asked and his voice betrayed his anger at the obvious misinformation.

"I have my information from several hidden loyals in the british DMLE as well as from a friend at the Office for Family and Children. They say that the girls surname is Riddle." Dolohov answered.

"A name is not prove. We all know that Bellatrix was only with Rodolphus because the Lord was unavailable. She may have stated a false name."

"Possible, my Lord. How shall we proceed?"

Lord Lestrange took his time with his answer. There were more pressing matters, but just the thought that there might be a granddaughter of his somewhere in Britain was... promising. However, was it worth resources? He sighed and then pressed back his own desires for an heir in favor of furthering the cause. "The girl has no priority, Antonin. Our brothers in scandinavia have reported that the muggles are onto us. It seems the Aurors are working with them now and use muggle weaponry in combination with their wands. Its disgusting, really. Go to them and provide aid. They may be proficient in their use of the old ways, but they lack in the more pragmatic, new arts. Help them."

"As you wish, Lord Lestrange." Antonin bowed once again and then vanished with the sound of air pressing in the vacuum that Dolohov left behind by apparating.

"An heir?" Lestrange mused to himself. If the informations were true, and Bellatrix named his sons daughter after their Lord, there was still hope for his line. He was old, nearly ninety by now and even with magic he felt the age. How long he still had to reach his goals, he did not know. The only certain way to leave a legacy was an apprentice, and whom better than his own flesh and blood? He would wait, for now, he thought to himself. There was no need to rush things, especially when society would drive the girl faster to him as he ever could.

-MBR-


End file.
